


The Country Baron

by cornelius



Series: Rexford Chronicles [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornelius/pseuds/cornelius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has to take a trip and a Baron from the country arrives in town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Country Baron

**Author's Note:**

> **Edited 6/19:** small changes to fit with expanded world in later parts.

Dean tidied up the last of the tools on his worktable with a forlorn sigh. Goddess only knew when he’d be back at the smithy, striking tiny runes into charms and other small trinkets Bobby could sell in the shop.

The only thing left on the table that was _his_ was a packet of letters wrapped in a blue silk bow. He’d read and reread the letters countless times since receiving them, soaking up every detail he could about the man who sent them.

They were written in deep indigo ink on sturdy linen paper by a careful, but not particularly artful hand. Dean learned as much about the man from his blocky capitals and evenly spaced lines as from the actual words he wrote.

Prince Castiel was a military man, and his penmanship was as easy to decipher as the meaning of his short, too-the-point sentences. Whatever lack of organization he had in his personal life was completely absent from his letter-writing, which told Dean that Castiel’d probably been to the kind of school that drilled disorder out of a person. Dean smiled at the thought—Castiel’s teachers would probably be appalled at the organized chaos of Castiel’s room.

Between his tedious descriptions of court events and anecdotes from the garrison, Castiel slipped in small mentions of disagreements with his family. He made sure to downplay his feelings and mask them in layers of euphemism and metaphor. After all, disagreeing with a brother is to be expected—except when your brother is the king.

 _Small rebellions_ , Dean thought as he examined Castiel’s letters for the hundredth time, _Castiel is a man of small rebellions._

Dean put the packet of letters in his coat pocket, and patted it where it lay against his breast. He picked up one final letter to send to Castiel and passed it off to Garth as he walked out to the stables. Unlike Castiel’s, Dean’s letter was on Bobby’s coarse wood pulp paper and written in Dean’s homemade pine soot black ink—nothing fancy, but it got the job done.

Dean had one foot in the stirrup when Bobby called out to him from the doorway between the smithy backroom and the stables. His joints were bothering him more and more lately—not that he’d ever told Dean that—and he’d wheeled over on his work stool.

“Dean, my apprentice ain’t your personal messenger. And stop using my good spell paper to write your moony love letters!”

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled himself up onto his tall black mare. It wasn’t even Bobby’s best paper!

“I only ask him to go when there are other letters or deliveries going to the castle. He’s not going out of his way,” Dean said looking down at his old mentor. And it was true—between the needs of the palace and the barracks, a lot of small goods and letters commissioning Singer Smithy came back and forth, requiring Bobby’s lanky apprentice Garth to make frequent trips.

Bobby gave him a skeptical look. “And they’re not love letters,” he added.

“So then His Royal Highness Prince Castiel hired you for _something else_?” Bobby asked, referring to Dean’s other—and strictly speaking, less than legal—career.

“No, _he_ didn’t hire me for anything,” Dean protested, ears burning.

“But you had a job up at the palace recently, didn’t you?” Bobby guessed and Dean tried to keep his face as stoic as possible. Was nothing private anymore?

“Look,” Bobby said, giving him an even stare, “I don’t really care what you get up to with that prince of yours as long as you stay _safe_ —”

“Bobby!”

“And you don’t take any unnecessary risks. He’s not gonna bail you out if you get into trouble.” Bobby wagged a warning finger at Dean and Dean sighed.

“I know, I know. We’re just … friends? I guess.” _And I’d like to have sex with him again_ , Dean thought, but Bobby didn’t need to know that part.

Bobby eyed him suspiciously, but dropped the subject with a shake of his head.

“Will I see you when I get back?” Bobby asked.

“Well,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck, “maybe once or twice. We don’t want you to get involved if things go sideways.”

Bobby nodded before adding gruffy, “Take care of yourself. And say hello to Sam and Jody and the girls for me.”

Dean gave him a mock salute and turned his horse toward the stable opening. He trotted down the wide lane, passing the many workshops that populated this part of town, and turned Baby toward the New Bridge. It was the only _real_ bridge in the lower city, so Dean had to tread carefully around the many pedestrians. Once he made it to the east side of the river, he quickly navigated the cramped streets in the warehouse district to the main road that led out the Eastern Gate. 

The two guards stationed at the gate looked bored and disinterested, but Dean still didn’t want to accidentally catch their attention or the attention of the man checking entrance papers. He waited until he saw two large wagons heading for the gate, and walked Baby between them. The wagons turned left to pick up supplies from the train station, and Dean turned right, spurring Baby on as they hit the road to Hibbing.

%%%

“If you don’t stop scowling, Michael will notice and make you talk to him,” Hannah whispered into Castiel’s ear.

“I wasn’t scowling,” he protested and she raised an eyebrow at him. The lighting was dim in the corner where Castiel was standing, far away from the chandeliers lit by magic carved into their great brass arms, but he knew Hannah could still see his face.

“Fine,” he said, adjusting the front of his dress jacket, “I’m just in a bad mood. You know I’m not good at these parties.”

Hannah nodded her head in agreement as two of their cousins walked by, tittering in their expensive gowns on their way to talk to more people in their finest clothing, starlight talismans winking in their hair. Castiel scowled again and Hannah put a warning hand on his forearm.

Castiel didn’t have to say a word for Hannah for her to know exactly why he was out of sorts. Their mutual distaste for the many balls and parties and galas Michael favored was old ground between them. Castiel thought that using royal funds on an event that only the nobility could attend didn’t make sense at this time. Many roads in the Old City needed to be repaved and the coffers were overflowing from increased taxes. 

Hannah’s disapproval, however, was on a social level. As the royal member of the Rexford City Council, she saw first-hand how increasing distrust and frustration fomented in the rest of the city as Michael isolated himself and the nobility from everyone else.

Despite all that, Castiel could usually put on a smile and fake it and talk to Hannah or one of his other more reasonable siblings until it was safe to duck out early. But Michael wasn’t his only source of restlessness this night.

He fingered the small note tucked into his pants pocket, and he pictured the words he’d read over and over.

_Will be out of town for a week or two. Write you when I get back. I’ve got a surprise for you! -Dean_

The message had come four weeks and three days ago, and he still hadn’t heard from Dean. As the third and fourth week passed without a word, he started to wonder if Dean’d just had his fun and was _done_ with Castiel.

Castiel knew his letters weren’t very interesting—knew _he_ wasn’t very interesting—but before this break in communication, Dean _had_ kept writing back, asking questions about his interests and family. And Dean’d even made a few _very interesting suggestions_ about what he wanted to do with Castiel when they saw each other again.

So he waited. As long as he waited, he could believe that Dean’s trip took him away from the city longer than intended. But Castiel didn’t know how much longer he could keep believing that little fantasy.

“Cassie!” Balthazar shouted, waving him over to a small group of men Castiel’d never seen before. “You have to meet my new friends.” The two men Balthazar gestured to stood apart from the rest of the crowd, their clothes a season or two out of date and well worn in some places. Compared to usual party crowd, they might as well have been wearing tradesmen’s homespun suits.

Castiel sighed and excused himself from Hannah’s company, before crossing the room to talk with his cousin. As soon as Castiel joined the small group, Balthazar dropped an arm over Castiel’s shoulders.

“Hello, Balthazar,” he said unenthusiastically. He doubted Balthazar’s antics would improve his worsening mood.

“You remember I was telling you about my poltergeist problem?” Balthazar asked, but didn’t wait for Castiel to respond, “Well, these gentlemen are experts at sending vengeful spirits and poltergeists on to the Goddess.”

Castiel turned his head and looked at the two strangers for the first time. The man closest to him was tall—one of the tallest men he’d met in his life—and he wore his hair in a country style, long enough to be pulled back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. He smiled warmly at Castiel and Castiel gave him a smile of his own.

When he turned to look at the other man, it took all his years of social training to keep his jaw from dropping. It was Dean, though not as Castiel remembered seeing him last.

This Dean had a short cropped beard and hair just long enough to part. He’d also spent some time in the sun recently, giving him a light dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose. He also wore real clothes—instead of that light robe and _nothing_ from their last encounter—and despite their wear, they were expertly tailored to show off his muscled shoulders and arms and thighs. Memories of Dean naked and pliant popped into Castiel’s mind and Castiel had to shake them off so he wouldn’t get caught staring.

Balthazar gestured toward Dean, and spoke in his most stately manner, “Allow me to introduce you to Lord John, Baron of Bonham and his cousin and steward Sir Robert Plant.”

Castiel eyed the men suspiciously, but both made the appropriate bows. “It’s a pleasure to meet you gentlemen, but I’m not sure I’m familiar with the Barony of Bonham.”

“It is quite some distance from here and very small,” Dean’s companion said, “We expect few around here would know it.”

“Lord Balthazar sent for us,” Dean changed the subject, “I’m sure as General of the Rexford garrison you know there has been a recent spate of hauntings in the homes around Beacon Street and Castle Road”— _the richest neighborhoods in the city_ went unsaid—“and Balthazar decided to take some action after his own home was visited by a spirit.”

“And you two know how to dispel spirits? I’m very interested in that kind of magic,” Castiel said, attempting to sound innocent. He was suspicious that Dean and his companion weren’t actually ghost hunters, but watching Dean might be entertaining. “I would love to see you in action some time.”

“Well,” Dean started, “We’ve already dealt with Balthazar’s poltergeist, but if we get tasked with taking care of another one …”

The steward Robert (though Castiel doubted that was his real name) began coughing loudly and the rest of Dean’s sentence was drowned out. Castiel also thought he caught a pointed look in Dean’s direction, but with Robert’s hand covering his face, it was hard to tell.

“As I was saying—” Dean said over continued coughing from his companion, “we usually don’t share our methods but we may be able to make an exception for the Prince.” Dean sent Castiel a wink, and the air between them charged with _expectation_.

This time Dean’s companion openly glared at him, but Dean ignored his looks. Instead, Dean stared at Castiel, a challenging glint in his eyes. Castiel met his gaze, and that seemed to only encourage Dean.

“In fact,” Dean said with a flirtatious smile, “I have some of my materials with me. I could show you a few things right now.”

“I would love to, Lord Bonham,” Castiel said, hoping his voice didn’t betray any of his eagerness to be alone with Dean. “Balthazar, would you mind if I borrowed your friend?”

Balthazar shook his head, but Castiel knew he’d be pestered for details later. Dean’s companion just stared at Dean like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Dea—My Lord,” Robert said through gritted teeth, “can I speak to you in private for a moment?”

“I don’t want to keep the Prince waiting,” Dean replied, waving off the other man, “I’ll see you back at the house later.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he hissed, but Dean was already pushing Castiel out of the grand ballroom.

As soon as they made it out into the hall, Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand and dragged him through the mostly empty halls. Some guards gave them curious looks, but most ignored them—it wasn’t the first time a couple had snuck out of a party for privacy and Goddess knew it wouldn’t be the last.

They took the steps up to Castiel’s tower rooms two at a time, laughing all the way. Dean was radiant, and never more so than when he had a smile on his face.

They crashed through his large, ornate doors together and Castiel barely got the door latched behind him before Dean spun him around and covered Castiel’s mouth with his own.

Castiel marveled in the new feeling of Dean’s coarse beard rasping against his own stubble. His lips prickled and burned as they kissed, but the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He brought his hands up to feel Dean’s cheek and ran his fingertips along the grain of the short hairs there.

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean breathed into his mouth between kisses and Castiel felt the sound all the way down to his toes.

Castiel pushed Dean’s jacket off as he pushed him toward the bedroom. Dean ripped his waistcoat off as soon as his arms were free and started on the many tiny buttons of Castiel’s officer’s coat. By the time Castiel’d kicked the bedroom door closed, Dean’d latched onto a spot just under Castiel’s collarbone.

Castiel groaned as Dean sucked a mark into his skin. Castiel’d read that it was supposed to hurt, even if just a little, but he barely registered the pain. Dean blew cool air over the sensitive spot when he was done, and Castiel’s arousal skyrocketed.

“Dean,” he whined and reached for his friend. Castiel grabbed handfuls of Dean’s loose shirt and yanked it over his head. A small charm on a leather cord—a sun inscribed with a pentagram—rested against Dean’s sternum and Castiel turned it over in his hand. Dean gently pulled it out of Castiel’s hand and took it off, placing it on the nearest bedside table.

Castiel opened his mouth to ask about it, but Dean just pulled him into another searing kiss. Charm forgotten, Castiel’s hands came down to cup Dean’s ass, kneading the firm globes and pushing Dean’s erection into Castiel’s hip.

Dean panted into Castiel’s mouth as his hips made small thrusts into Castiel’s, encouraged by Castiel’s hands on his ass. Some small barely coherent part of Castiel’s brain reveled in the way Dean completely lost himself in Castiel’s arms. Castiel wasn’t much better off than Dean. Castiel’s brain fogged over with pleasure as Dean’s hips slid against his cock.

“Wait,” Castiel said as his hands came down to still Dean’s undulating hips. In his letters, Dean’d filled Castiel’s head with a number of _potential scenarios_ , and Castiel didn’t want it to eliminate them before they even got started.

As he mentally rifled through every lewd act Dean had so bluntly suggested, Castiel memorized Dean’s face—eyes hazy with lust, cheeks flushed, mouth slack. Castiel’s thumb found the corner of Dean’s mouth and a flippant post-coital comment from Dean sprung to mind.

“You made me a promise the night we met,” Castiel growled into Dean’s ear, “and I intend to hold you to it.”

Dean gave him a look of confusion before it melted into one of understanding. “Oh,” he said, his plush lips forming a perfect ‘o’ as a blush crept over his cheeks. Dean was an alluring man most of the time, but there was something about him shy and bashful that made Castiel want to do wicked things to him.

Dean looked Castiel up and down and smirked—his shyness gone as quickly as it’d come. “Well, we should probably get you out of the rest of your clothes, then.”

The two of them peeled Castiel’s linen undershirt over his head and started to work on his uniform pants, though they had to stop briefly to take off Castiel’s boots. Dean kicked off his own boots and breeches while Castiel sat on the bed, pants bunched around his knees, and worked his boots off.

He must’ve looked pretty ridiculous, because when Dean caught sight of him, he laughed so hard his whole body shook. Castiel rolled his eyes and pulled off the last boot with a sharp tug.

Once free of his boots, Dean yanked off Castiel’s pants and pushed him down onto the bed with a kiss. Dean’s kisses made the whole room spin, so Castiel let Dean move him until he was propped up comfortably on a pile of throw pillows.

Dean easily fitted himself into the open splay of Castiel’s legs moving down Castiel’s body until Castiel felt his hot breath on his cockhead. Castiel closed his eyes and saw stars.

“Ready Cas?” Dean asked, and his lips barely grazed Castiel’s sensitive flesh.

Castiel lifted his head to look at Dean—when had Castiel thrown his head back?—and nodded. Lips immediately found the base of Castiel’s cock and Dean gently pulled Castiel’s foreskin down. Dean flattened his tongue and licked a wide stripe from Castiel’s balls to the flared ridge of the head.

Castiel dropped his head back down and closed his eyes, focusing on the concentrated feeling on Dean’s tongue on his skin. Dean took his time, laving his tongue over Castiel’s balls and kissing every inch of Castiel’s cock.

When Castiel wasn’t sure he could take much more, Dean’s lips _finally_ wrapped around Castiel. Dean sucked him into his mouth, and the warm heat and pressure was more than Castiel’d ever dreamed it would be.

Dean’s head bobbed slowly along Castiel’s length, almost completely pulling off before taking Castiel nearly to the root. Castiel moaned, and nonsense spilled out of his mouth, but he’d never felt like this before. Fucking Dean’s thighs had been wonderful—and he’d loved having strong and confident Dean turn pliable under his hands—but there was something to be said for surrendering to Dean’s will and expertise.

Dean’s pace quickened as he shifted the angle so that the head of Castiel’s cock rubbed against the roof of Dean’s mouth. Castiel tried to stave off his orgasm for as long as possible, savoring the feeling of Dean’s mouth surrounding him, but as a seasoned warrior, he knew when he was fighting a losing battle.

All the muscles in Castiel’s thighs and ass tensed as he came with a surprised shout. Dean stroked him through it, lips clamped around the head, while one by one, Castiel’s muscles unlocked.

Castiel gulped down air as his heart pounded in his ears. He distantly registered Dean reaching across him and spitting into a handkerchief Castiel supposed Dean’d put under the pillow for this very purpose.

“You doin’ alright there?” he asked, looking too smug. Castiel grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him down to wipe that cocky grin off his face.

Castiel tentatively swiped his tongue into Dean’s mouth and was rewarded with a moan from Dean he felt rather than heard. Dean tasted different—salty and tangy—and Castiel mentally jolted at the idea he was tasting his own semen before deciding he enjoyed kissing Dean too much to care.

Dean pressed his naked hips into Castiel’s. Dean’s cock, slicked with his precome and Castiel’s sweat, slid obscenely past Castiel’s as Dean thrusted in earnest against Castiel’s body. Castiel held Dean’s head in his hands, kissing him like might never get the chance to again.

Castiel felt the hot splash of Dean’s release on his skin as Dean’s cheek came down to rest on Castiel’s shoulder. Dean’s heavy breathing rumbled in Castiel’s ears and Dean’s arms trembled around him.

He helped lay Dean down next to him before getting up to fetch a towel from the bathroom. Dean was so beautiful in the haze of post-coital pleasure, his skin glowing in the soft candlelight. A lazy smirk crossed Dean’s features and Castiel wanted to enjoy the feeling of knowing that he’d reduced Dean to a panting sweaty mess, but something dark twisted in Castiel’s gut.

His bare feet hit the cold tile of the bathroom floor and embarrassment welled up in Castiel. Before he’d seen Dean at the party, he’d almost convinced himself that Dean was never coming back. And he hadn’t even come back to see Castiel—it’d just been coincidence that they’d met.

A thought stopped Castiel in his tracks. Was Castiel just _convenient_?

He was a such a fool, running up to his room with Dean like they were amorous teenagers. He didn’t want to be this person, the kind who was so blinded by passion that he couldn’t see reality. Dean was a thief and a _conman_ and there was nothing stopping him from leaving Castiel when he was no longer useful.

“Cas are you okay?” Dean asked as Castiel reentered the bedroom. Castiel didn’t know what his expression was, but it made Dean’s brows furrow. Some part of Castiel leapt at the evidence that Dean _cared_ , but he squashed it—he wasn’t going to be content on just crumbs of Dean’s affection. He needed to be sure.

“Your letter said a week or two.” Castiel said, “I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”

Dean looked away and sighed. He crawled to the edge of the bed and reached for his breeches. “This is not the kind of conversation I like to have while naked,” he said, his voice muffled by the rustling of buckskin.

Castiel found a pair of clean woollen trousers he wore for sleeping in the cooler months and put those on with his discarded undershirt. He thought about lacing up the collar—one extra layer of protection—but left it hanging open when he noticed that Dean made no move to find his shirt at all.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ground and head resting on one arm. He patted the space next to him, and Castiel crossed the room to sit.

“My partner thought we needed more time,” Dean said with a wry twist to his mouth, “And he said we couldn’t risk my alias being known to write to you before we officially met.”

“And when were we _supposed_ to officially meet?” Castiel asked, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“I had hoped _today_ ,” Dean said, his tone honest, “But I had half a mind to fabricate something if I didn’t run into you sooner rather than later.”

Dean chuckled to himself and Castiel felt an answering smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Dean shook his head ruefully, and then dropped his head on Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel froze—he didn’t want to move, to breathe, just in case he was imagining Dean nuzzling his shoulder. He wanted Dean’s touch more than he’d wanted anything else in his life, and the thought scared him.

“I just—” Castiel started, but wasn’t sure where to go. He could admit that he wanted Dean, but he still didn’t know if he could trust him. “I want to know you, but I’m afraid that I don’t, or that I _can’t_. I don’t even know if this—” he gestured to the space between them, “means anything to you or if I’m just _convenient_. I don’t even know if you _like_ me.”

Dean’s head popped up from Castiel’s shoulders. Hurt flashed through Dean’s eyes and then it was gone.

“I’m not a liar, Cas,” he said, staring at something across the room.

“You’re a _professional_ liar.”

“Well,” Dean said sheepishly, “I’m not a liar when it comes to _this_.” He looked at Castiel and Castiel wanted to take back everything he’d said since he’d come back from the bathroom. Looking into Dean’s eyes was like looking into a mirror—all of Castiel’s worries and fears reflected back at him.

Castiel wanted to apologize, but Dean spoke before he could start. “How do _I_ know that you’re not just using me to pass the time until your brother marries you off to some political ally?”

“I— I wouldn’t,” Castiel said indignantly, “I’m _not_.”

A dark anger rose in Castiel’s belly and burned through him. How could Dean assume something so _horrible_ about him?

Suddenly Dean’s hurt made perfect sense. Most of the nobility was unconcerned with the feelings of men like Dean. In fact, he knew plenty of men and women who wouldn’t hesitate to take a lover from the lower classes, only to discard them after growing bored.

“Oh,” Castiel said, “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“You see? All we have is each other’s word, and if that’s not good enough—” Dean shook his head. “Then maybe we should end this.”

Castiel rested his forehead on Dean’s. “I don’t want to,” Castiel whispered, his lips brushing Dean’s rough cheek, “I want to trust you, but it’s hard with the things I’ve been through …”

Castiel trailed off as he caught a glimpse of a too bright room, a metallic squeal deafening him, hands on his body, pain in his head—

“Cas,” Dean said, his arms steadying Castiel as he shook. Dean didn’t ask him about it, and Castiel was grateful for that. He just held Castiel, and put Castiel’s head on his shoulder as he ran his fingers through Castiel’s hair.

“I missed you,” Dean said and Castiel turned his face to capture his lips. He rolled Dean back down onto the bed, and pulled his breeches off. Castiel pressed all his worries and longing and passion into that kiss, and Dean returned it with equal fervor.

Castiel pulled at Dean until he rested half on top of Castiel, a warm and comforting weight on his body. Propped up on his elbows, Dean looked down at Castiel, his soft smile turning into a mock frown.

“And you’re definitely not _convenient_. Do you know how fucking hard it is to get into the palace?”

**Author's Note:**

> I've really been enjoying writing in this world! :D
> 
> ETA: Big thanks to [messier51](http://messier51.tumblr.com) for betaing!


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